heroslayer | rp for youngerpetrelli: i have measured out my life with coffee s

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rp for youngerpetrelli: i have measured out my life with coffee s

(Continuing from this, since

youngerpetrelli and I kinda broke my comments. Eheh. Oops?)

Sylar nodded. "I did, yes. But not because Nakamura stabbed me."

He tried to keep himself from sneering, really he did, but in the end, he couldn't stop his lips from twisting, albeit marginally. There was simply too much hate, when it came to the little, sword-wielding sonovabitch. And, even beyond that, there were too many bad memories centered around Kirby Plaza--even beyond his defeat and near-death.

"The Company found me," he explained after a pause. "They took me to Mexico. Stitched me up, where I'd been stabbed. And then gave me some kind of virus that took my abilities away."

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"I'm not all that worried about objects, but..." Close contact with someone who had nearly 400 years of experience could be a lot more than distracting.

Then he cocked his head and studied Sylar for a long moment. "Do you think that now I have your ability, I'd be able to figure out how other abilities I got before I had it work? I haven't really tried yet, but... I think I'd like to have a bit more conscious control over some abilities..." Part of him hoped Sylar didn't ask which ones -- he didn't need his brother knowing about all of his kinks, after all.

"You should, yes." Despite the straight answer, however, that didn't stop him from raising an eyebrow, curious. At least he had the decency not to ask.

"Good -- I should... definitely work on that, then," he said with a nod, a small smile curving his lips.

The smile faded and he asked, "So... can I ask you a somewhat personal question?"

If Sylar had been watching his brother with interest just a moment before, it doubled now. What could Peter possibly ask him that wasn't already public knowledge? He knew about his compulsion to kill, the hunger, Mohinder. What else was there?

"Alright."

He met Sylar's gaze and, after studying him for a moment, asked, "How do you feel about being a Petrelli?"

"I'm not sure," he answered, his mouth twisting into a thoughtful frown. "It's ... not something I would have expected. I mean ... "

He paused, eyes darkening briefly, before disappearing as soon as it had come, like a shadow over the sun. "I always knew we were connected. There was too much--you were too much like me. How I could have been, if things had gone differently, somehow. But, I never though that we were brothers."

Sylar shook his head, ever so slightly. He hadn't answered the question, he knew, but it wasn't something he'd done on purpose. Rather, it was more a case of, "I guess I'm still in sort of a state of shock. I haven't had time to process it."

He nodded. "Completely understandable. I think... I think I'd be a little freaked out if you were able to come to a decision that quickly. It makes me... more comfortable that you're unsettled by it." He smiled and shook his head. "Does that make any sense?"

Then he sighed and said, "I knew we were connected, too. I tried to deny it with everything in me, but... that dream..."

Sylar laughed, albeit quietly, and offered his brother a wan smile.

"I guess it would be a little strange if I suddenly decided I wanted to invite you over for dinner." Or breakfast, since the only two things he could manage to cook without destroying the kitchen happened to be waffles and ziti. "So, it does make sense, yes."

He paused, smile fading as Petrelli side, and listened as he went on, head tilted to one side. "It was that vivid?"

"And I'd have to worry a little if you told me you were glad to be part of one of the most fucked-up families around..." he said with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

"It... scared me. A lot. I barely saw you when we tangled, and yet there you were, being more Nathan than Nathan was when he finally showed up. It..." He shook his head, trying to find the words. "I didn't even realize until after I dreamed about Claude that there was a precognitive element to the dreams."

Now there was a name he didn't recognize, and so, he repeated it. "Claude?" Hopefully, Peter would fill him in, as he found himself suddenly interested.

"He was my mentor, sort of. I started out thinking I could only use an ability when I was near the person I got it from -- heal when I was near Claire, fly when I was near Nathan -- Claude taught me how to use abilities without the people I got them from being around."

"That's why you didn't fight back," he murmured, eyes somewhere else in that instant.

When Peter had used his own telekinesis against him later, he'd always wondered why he hadn't done the same at Union Wells. Why he'd run and then lured him up to the roof and pulled him off. If he'd had his powers, it would have been so much easier just to lash out telekinetically. He never would have seen it coming, after all, unaware at the time of what Peter was capable of.

"I always wondered."

He laughed softly and shook his head. "I didn't even know I could regenerate when we fell. I'd seen a painting by Isaac and was pretty much convinced I was going to die."

A wry smile, then, "I think, judging by the amount of blood, that I probably did."

"If it makes you feel any better," he shot back, one corner of his mouth tipping into a smile that matched his brother's, "I think I would have, too. If the Company hadn't captured me."

He could vaguely remember Bennet saying they'd cleaned him up, after all. To what point and purpose, he didn't know, as they'd tortured him to death shortly thereafter, but the fact still remained that they had saved his life. He'd barely managed to limp away from the high school, even with the telekinetic shield he'd put between himself and the ground.

"But ... " But something still didn't add up for him. "... you didn't know her, did you? Why save her, if you were sure you were going to die?"

"...oh." He really wasn't sure he wanted to know what the Company had done to Sylar -- from what Adam had told him he could imagine a lot of possibilities, and none of them were good.

He shrugged slightly and said, "Hiro came from the future and told me I had to 'save the cheerleader, save the world...'"

Briefly, the killer wondered why the hell the cheerleader was so important--why everything seemed to come back to her--but he pushed the thought away. Instead, with a wry smile, he answered with, "Guess it worked."

New York hadn't been Ground Zero, after all. And the villain--namely, him--had been defeated. Mostly.

"That time, yeah. Let's hope we can save it this time, too..." He only realized he'd said 'we' after the words left his mouth, and he gave Sylar a slightly bemused smile.

"We," he parroted, somehow managing to draw the single-syllabled word out as though it were a foreign food and he was trying to decide whether or not he liked it. An in the end, it seemed he didn't, as he was shaking his head. "I'm not the hero, Peter. I never will be, even if I get the hunger under control. It's not who I am."

A pause, in which he popped one shoulder in a shrug, and then he continued. "I'll help, but only because I want to protect what's mine."

"I know -- not expecting you to be. But that's okay -- any help is help." And that was the truth -- as long as Sylar wasn't working against them, it really didn't matter. They needed all the help they could get, and whether for altruistic or selfish reasons, it was still help.

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat so that he could stretch out a little. "Point." He skipped a beat, and then, as an afterthought, he added, "As long as we're clear."

And despite his protests otherwise, if his brother were to come to him with a specific task in mind? He just might do it. It would depend on his mood, he supposed.

He nodded, allowing himself a small smile. "As crystal," he answered. And he was pretty sure he knew what Sylar considered 'his' to begin with.

He flashed Peter a smile of his own, the expression amazingly genuine. "Good."

He liked the idea that his brother seemed to honestly understand where he was coming from, that he wasn't going to try and convince him this was a case of with them or against them, that he was still his own man, rather than forced to pick a side. And while he wouldn't tell Peter this, that alone was probably more than enough to make him lend a hand, even when something came up in this whole mess that he didn't have a personal stake it, and all because he'd been given a choice. Funny how that worked.

"Anything else you wanted to ask me?" Not that he was trying to get rid of his brother, but Peter had put the same question to him, a few minutes ago, and he was feeling surprisingly candid.

He nodded. Sylar had already told him the most important thing -- ignore the ticking. He could try to do that; could push it to the back of his mind and just not listen to it. But what happened when he couldn't ignore it?

"I -- what do you do when the ticking gets too loud to ignore. Is there anything you can do to fight it at that point?" He was so scared that the answer would be 'no.'

"I tend to destroy my apartment, when it gets that bad." Barring that, there were other things he did that Peter didn't need to know about. Or at least not directly, as he offered, "You're seeing someone that heals," before glancing down at the table, almost embarrassed. Violent sex was as good an outlet as any.

He was silent for a moment after that, considering the wood of the table, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, and then slowly, he raised his eyes. "You shouldn't have a problem with Adam and Claire, though. You already know how their powers work." And he'd found through spending time with Adam after he'd taken his power that the ticking sounded different, somehow. No where near as obnoxious or as driving as it had been before.

"But there are days with Suresh where ... " He stopped short, trying to find a way of putting it. "Where anything he says to me is automatically the wrong answer. On days like that, I avoid him. It's the best I've been able to come up with."

"I... should probably avoid destroying things. I like my apartment, and Adam would get annoyed if I wreck his place. But... Um... yeah." He picked up some of what Sylar was thinking, despite all attempts to keep from reading his brother's mind, and a faint blush coloured his cheeks. "Right." He'd just have to get more comfortable with the role of the aggressor...

"So... it's easier around people whose abilities you already have? Or would it be different for me, since I don't get those abilities the same way in the first place. I have to learn them, while you understand them from the start...?"

rp for youngerpetrelli: i have measured out my life with coffee s

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